


Nothing But a Voice

by AllThoseOtherWorlds



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Inhuman, M/M, Spells & Enchantments, incorporeal!Cecil, noncorporeal!Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThoseOtherWorlds/pseuds/AllThoseOtherWorlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After trying - and failing - to respond to a simple inquiry from his mother, Carlos comes to a startling realization about his boyfriend. At first it seems like just another one of Night Vale's quirks, but when Cecil accidentally breaks an old spell, they have to deal with the fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Does Cecil Look Like?

**Author's Note:**

> **I do not own Welcome to Night Vale. I do not make money from this.**
> 
> **Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome! Even if you didn't finish reading the piece, I'd like to know what you did and/or didn't like. If anything I said is offensive or wrong, let me know and I'll change it.**
> 
> **I started writing this because the plot bunny just popped into my head and seemed really interesting, and about halfway through I realized that this could potentially be seen as a metaphor for disability. That was not my intention, but given that it is a possible interpretation I have tried to ensure that this is not offensive. However, I know I'm far from perfect, so if this piece is problematic, you have my apologies. Please feel free to comment and let me know if something bothered you.**

            Carlos frowned at his computer screen, the blinking cursor mocking him. His email was open and he was preparing to respond to a series of excited inquiries from his mother about Cecil. His boyfriend. His boyfriend who he loved dearly, but whose appearance he could not, apparently, describe for his life.

            (He erased the last thought from his mind quickly - in Night Vale, that sort of thought could be put to the test)

            He'd sent an email to his mother several weeks ago, and once it had finally escaped the censoring net surrounding Night Vale communications, his mother had quickly sent him a reply full of questions. Most of them were easy - either the response was apparent, or it was something that would probably be censored and he knew better than to mention it. He'd told her about his coworkers at the lab (the few who were still alive were making very little publishable progress, but there was lots of interesting research) and about his friends from the town: John Peters, you know, the farmer? His corn crop was coming in nicely and Carlos had been having a wonderful time studying it. He told her about the weather, of course – it had been on a jazz-blues theme for the past week, during which the sun had been continually late to rise. He avoided telling her about some of the more unusual things that had been happening (the hissing noises emitted by his toaster had graduated to nearly-discernable mutters, and the public gardens had been frozen in time for a few days about a week ago).

            And he talked about Cecil.

            Cecil was friendly, and warm, and enthusiastic in his love and hatred. He adored Carlos, and he was devoted to his job. He loved cats, whether that meant Koshekh (about whose species Carlos had doubts) or the traditional Youtube cat videos. He tried to sleep on his back so he could gaze at the void that sometimes made itself seen even through the ceiling, but he always gave up and slept on his side instead. He had a wonderful voice and a questionable sense in clothing.

            Carlos had no trouble describing his boyfriend. He knew Cecil.

            So why couldn't he remember what he looked like?

            He had tried, over and over again, to remember Cecil's face, his hair, his eyes - anything - but he just ... couldn't.  He didn't think Cecil was particularly tall, or short, or fat, or thin, or young, or old, or any number of other things. He had some idea of what Cecil _wasn't_ , but he didn't know what he _was._

            He tried to pull up some pictures he'd taken on his phone, now out of curiosity and guilt (how could he have forgotten what his boyfriend looked like?) as well as obligation to his mother. The picture were there, but they didn't help. He could look straight at a picture and still not know what Cecil looked like.

            Cecil showed up in the pictures, of course. He was there, smiling up at Carlos from the reporting booth at the radio station, but his appearance just ... _wasn't_. Carlos thought he was probably humanoid, since he could clearly see and describe Cecil's orange dress shirt and sky-blue suit in agonizing detail, but the rest of him was vague. He could see that Cecil was smiling, but he couldn't tell what his teeth or lips looked like; he could see that Cecil's eyes were crinkling at the corners as his face lit up, but he couldn't even tell how many eyes Cecil had. It was as though there was something about Cecil that made the brain just skip over him. _Nothing to see here_ , it said. _Just an average person. Nothing to stand out._

            Carlos wasn't buying it.


	2. Cecil, What Do You Look Like?

            Carlos fidgeted nervously as he waited at the Moonlight All-Nite Diner for Cecil to arrive. He'd called him up and asked him to join him for dinner after his show ended, and Cecil had accepted enthusiastically. They'd been dating for several months now, but Cecil never failed to dramatically express his love for Carlos. Carlos himself was somewhat more reserved, but he cared deeply for Cecil, and tried to express it however he could.

            Tonight, however, he was nervous. How was he supposed to phrase this? _Sorry Cecil, but could you tell me what you look like? I seem to have forgotten_. It sounded absurd, even for Night Vale. And it would probably hurt Cecil's feelings. But he was a Scientist, and he knew the puzzle was going to eat at him unless he figured it out. He could let go of some things, like the unstable nature of time in Night Vale, or the unreliable sunsets, but this was more personal. He cared about Cecil, and as an extension of that, he wanted to know as much about him as he could. _It'll be okay_ , he reassured himself. _Cecil won't mind_. _It's probably some obvious Night Vale thing_.

            He hoped he wasn't lying to himself.

            The old, bloodstained gong next to the door sounded with a clang as Cecil entered the diner. He smiled at Carlos, and strode over to the table and sat down, and Carlos realized with a sinking feeling that he still couldn't tell what he looked like.

            He focused his eyes firmly on Cecil's face, trying to pick out just _one_ detail and work from there. How long was Cecil's hair? What colour was it? His eyes? His skin? He didn't know. Whenever he focused somewhere his mind just _slipped away_ , eyes refusing to give him answers. It was infuriating.

            "Carlos, are you okay?" Cecil asked, concern filling his voice.

            "What?" Carlos jumped guiltily, trying to pretend he'd been watching the Secret Police officer hiding behind the next table over. "Oh, yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit distracted, that's all."

            Cecil didn't look convinced ( _and how did he know that?_ ) but he seemed to accept his assertion.

            "Is it something Scientific?" he asked, voice filling with subdued excitement at the possibility of Science.

            Carlos smiled despite himself. "I suppose so," he said. "Actually, it's," he took a deep breath ( _now or never_ ), "it's about you, Cecil."

            "Me?" Cecil asked, eyes wide.

            "Yeah," Carlos said. "I, um, I can't figure out what you look like even though I'm looking right at you and it doesn't make any sense and are you okay?" He spewed out the long string of words, face heating up as Cecil's (nonexistent? Invisible?) expression grew confused.

            "You ... don't know what I look like?" he repeated, sounding not offended, thankfully, but also not like he had an answer. "That's strange."

            "I don't get it," Carlos said, able to talk more normally now that Cecil had apparently not been upset by his statement. "I'm looking right at you, and I can't say anything about what you look like. I couldn't even say if your skin was brown or magenta."

            "You can't?" Cecil said, frowning and holding his hand up to his face. "It's obviously..." he trailed off, blinking. “It’s..." he tried again. "It's... You know, I can't tell either?" he said uncertainly, putting his hand down and looking back to Carlos.

            "That's strange," he said. "I wonder why I never noticed that before?"

            "I think there's something about it that makes people not wonder," Carlos said. "I wouldn't have even thought about it except that my mother asked what you looked like."

            "You talk to your mother about me?" Cecil asked, sounding inordinately pleased.

            "She likes to know about the things that are important to me," Carlos said, before adding, "Unless you don't want me to talk about you. I haven't said anything other than the basics, but if you want I can-"

            "No, no, it's fine," Cecil reassured him. "It's wonderful. I'm glad I'm important to you," he added almost shyly, if such a thing were possible with his voice.

            Carlos wasn't sure what more to say about his conversations with his mother, so he decided to get back on topic. "So, would you mind if I tried to run some experiments on you?" he asked.

            "Experiments?" Cecil said. "On me? How exciting, dear Carlos! I'd love it." He paused for a moment before asking, "When did you have in mind?"


	3. Cecil Does Not Exist

            When Carlos had proposed doing experiments on Cecil, he had agreed readily, of course. The chance to be directly involved with real Science was _always_ too tempting to pass up, especially if it meant spending time with Carlos. They had decided to work on it the next evening, after Cecil finished his broadcast.

            Although he was eagerly anticipating the scientific work, Cecil directed his attention primarily to his show, because he had work to do. Of course, there were always ways to compromise...

            "Listeners," Cecil said, "Carlos has made an unusual observation about me: neither of us can figure out what I look like! Carlos was looking straight at me, and still told me that he couldn't figure out my appearance. Well, listeners, I thought he was perhaps just a little confused - and perfect even in his confusion, of course - so I raised my hand to examine it, and I'm afraid I had a difficult time figuring it out myself."

            He glanced down at his hand again, still puzzling over the fact that he couldn't tell what it looked like. It should resemble his mother's hand in some way, right? She had been... he wasn't sure what she looked like either, actually, but that was more likely due to a Secret Police-mandated memory wipe than anything sinister.

            He continued broadcasting as he thought over the concept. "Carlos wants to do an experiment on me tonight to learn about it!" he gushed. "Can you believe it, listeners? I'm glad I have the opportunity to contribute to Science. Still, I can't help but wonder about all this." he paused a moment, gaze caught on one of the objects on his desk.

            "Listeners," he said, "I have a photograph on my desk. It's in a fang-rimmed frame, as is mandated by the City Council, and it shows me and Carlos standing in Grove Park. Old Woman Josie took it when we were there one day." He picked up the picture and began examining it more closely. "I am looking at the picture now. Carlos - sweet, beautiful Carlos - is clear to me, and I can easily make out my favorite polka-dot tunic, but..."

            He trailed off, staring at the photo. He'd never really examined photographs of himself before. He'd never really examined anything about his appearance before, not even in mirrors, since his mother had warned him against them. Questioning his mother's commands had never seemed like a good idea, so he stayed far away from mirrors and gave no thought to his appearance. After all, why should he? Nobody else did.

            But now, looking at the photo, he had the strangest feeling that there was something else going on. It was silly, of course - why worry about something so inconsequential? There were lots of people in Night Vale with similar little quirks, like the invisible couple that lived down the street from his apartment. Why worry?

            Still, he kept staring at the photo, and at his hand holding it, trying to figure out how he could be looking at himself and not really be seeing himself. It was almost as though...

            He tried to cut off the thought, sensing the danger lurking within it, but it was too late.

            It was almost as though he wasn't even there. As though he didn't exist, didn't _have_ an appearance, was nothing more than a presence that could move through the world but wasn't truly of it.

            Nothing but a Voice.

            Suddenly, he felt disoriented and sick, and he struggled in vain to remain alert. It was no use; after a few moments of confused fighting, he felt himself slip under, and the world faded to black.

\---

            Cecil had no idea how much time had passed before he regained consciousness. He came back to consciousness slowly, but even through his fog of confusion it was readily apparent that something was wrong.

            He didn't know where he was. He couldn't feel his ... anything. What was happening?

            _Calm down, Cecil_ , he told himself. _Remember your training. You can do this. No point in panicking._ He would have taken a deep breath, but he didn’t think he could. That almost sent him panicking in and of itself, but he clamped down firmly on it, as he’d been taught to do when he received his basic radio broadcast training.

            Well, what _could_ he do?

            After some consideration, he realized that he still had his psychic semi-awareness of Night Vale itself - or rather, Night Vale's radios. There was one in Old Woman Josie's house, where Erika was watching a TV show about water leaking from a bucket. There was one on the table next to Pamela Winchel, who was calling another emergency press conference for some undoubtedly important announcement. There was even one in the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, which he had installed himself after the incident with Carlos. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. Whatever had happened, he was still connected to Night Vale.

            But what had happened? He drew his awareness away from the town, pulling it back toward himself. Where was he?  He couldn't feel any of his body parts, and he had no senses other than through the radios. He directed his gaze to the radio he kept in the control booth to monitor the broadcast, hoping that the room itself might provide an answer.

            It did, unfortunately.

            Lying on the floor of the room was his clothing for the day - his grey suit with purple dress shirt and bow-tie. The clothes were piled messily on the floor, all in a clump as though... The conclusion he had been trying very hard not to reach was inescapable.

            As though the body wearing them had just popped out of existence.


	4. Carlos Finds Cecil And An Information Dump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Invisible cookies if you can find the DS9 reference!

            Carlos was in his lab, as he usually was during days when nothing catastrophic was happening in Night Vale. Today he was exploring the mystery of invisible foods, with the hope of finding something he could use to get his grant renewed in two months' time.

            Cecil's show was on the radio, as always, and Carlos was enjoying the sound of his boyfriend's voice, even though he was too intent on his work to pick up every word. He was just mopping up the invisible, but slippery residue from burning invisible corn when he noticed that the sound had stopped.

            The sound never stopped. There was always something on the radio - be it the weather or Cecil's voice or the unusual sounds of some other program. But now there was only silence.

            Carlos abandoned the corn and dashed to his car, thankful for his stop-sign immunity as he sped to the radio station. Intern - Natalie? Nerys? - looked unsurprised to see him, and pointed in the direction of the control booth (which moved every day) without a word.

            He bolted up the stairs, threw open the door to Cecil's booth, and stopped abruptly, a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was nothing there.

            Cecil's clothes were lying on the floor - of mismatched sizes because literally anything Cecil wore managed to fit - and the recording equipment still looked to be running,  but Cecil himself was nowhere to be seen.

            "Cecil?" Carlos asked, worry filling his voice. "Cecil? Are you there?"

            He hadn't really expected a response - calling out like that was more of a reflex and a grasp at falling straw than anything - but he got one.

            "...Carlos?"

            It was faint, and confused, but definitely there, and Carlos had never been so grateful to hear Cecil's familiar voice.

            "Cecil!" he exclaimed in relief. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

            "I don't know," the radio responded - for that was where Cecil's voice seemed to be coming from. "I was looking at an old picture, and thinking about what you said last night, and then I just ... wasn't." Cecil's voice was scared. "Carlos, I don't know what happened, but... I don't think I have a body anymore."

            Carlos really wasn't sure how to respond to that. Part of his mind was racing ahead, already trying to piece this new development in with everything he already knew and didn't know about Cecil. The rest of him was fairly certain that wasn't what he should be talking to Cecil about right now.

            "It's okay," he said instead. "We'll figure this out. Are you hurt?"

           "...No," Cecil said, after a pause. "I can't feel anything."

            "How are you hearing me?" Carlos asked. "Can you see anything? What are you experiencing? Can everyone else hear you?"

            Well, he _was_ a scientist. Asking questions was in his nature.

            "I can see and hear through the radios," Cecil told him matter-of-factly, as though surprised that Carlos didn't already know this. "I'm the Voice of Night Vale. I need to be able to report on things. And no, I'm only broadcasting through this radio."

            "Okay," Carlos said, relatively unsurprised by the new information. "Uh..." he stopped, trying to figure out where to go from here. They needed answers, and he was pretty sure Cecil didn't have them. "Should we talk to somebody about this? City Council? The Secret Police?"

            There was a moment of silence as Cecil thought about it. Finally, he said, "It's less dangerous to approach the Secret Police."

            "That isn't exactly a resounding 'yes'," Carlos said dryly. "Are you okay with talking to them?"

            Cecil sighed. "I guess I have to be.”

            "We'll get through this," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll be back to your body soon." He didn't add that he could guarantee none of this; he suspected Cecil already knew that.

\---

            In the end, the Secret Police weren't all that hard to find. They weren't allowed to spy on people inside the radio station, but they were diligent as always when it came to watching everything else.

            Carlos had taken the radio with him as he left the building, since radios in Night Vale ran on something other than cords or batteries, and would work virtually anywhere. Finding the Secret Police was ultimately as simple as leaving the building and saying loudly, "I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with the Sheriff's Secret Police!" followed by some ritual words that Cecil gave through the radio.

            Once he was finished speaking, Carlos found himself accosted by two men dressed all in black. One of them grabbed him from behind, and the other squirted him with something that looked and smelled like raspberry-scented conditioner. Apparently it was not, in fact, conditioner, because Carlos almost immediately felt himself falling unconscious, landing in the grasp of the man standing behind him.

            He had just enough presence of mind to hold onto the radio as he fell.

\---

            When he awoke, he was in a near-empty room, sitting on a vibrantly green sofa. There was a poorly hidden camera in the potted plant across from the sofa, and the radio was on the cushion next to him. The couch seemed to be dripping onto the floor, but there were no puddles anywhere and the couch was dry and firm. Carlos wanted to ask Cecil about the furniture, but he decided there were probably more pressing concerns. "Where are we?" he asked instead.

            "The Sheriff's office," Cecil told him. "If he really is the Sheriff. If not, we're in someone else's office."

            Carlos was expecting the mysterious Sheriff's floating office to be somewhat more impressive, but he supposed that the fact that it was floating was probably impressive enough.

            "Do you know where the Sheriff is?" he asked Cecil. "Is there another radio here?"

            "No," Cecil said. "This office is supposed to remain secret. I'm surprised they let you keep this radio, actually. I know where they are now, but I suppose they'll just float off somewhere else later."

            "That we will. Or won't," a new voice hissed at them through a set of speakers installed in the potted plant. "You can't know. You will never know. We are Secret."

            Carlos wasn't sure if he was imagining the capital letter or not.

            "Are you the Sheriff?" he asked. "We have an, uh, _issue_ involving Cecil."

            "It's a Secret," the voice told him, despite the fact that it sounded exactly like the vioce of the man with the baklava and vocoder whom everyone assumed to be the Sheriff.

            "Okay, that's fine," Carlos licked his lips and tried to figure out how to phrase their current issue. "We, uh..." he trailed off, then turned to the radio. “Cecil, do you want to explain it, or should I?"

            "Station Management has already informed us that Cecil has stopped broadcasting his show," the Sheriff said. "They require an explanation, or else there will be _consequences_."

            "I seem to have lost corporeality," Cecil said, and Carlos thought he heard a different shade of fear in his voice - one not simply due to the situation itself.

            Nobody wanted to face Station Management.

            "Did you file a permit?" the Sheriff asked, seemingly unaware of any and all emotions present.

            "It was unplanned and unintentional," Cecil said, sounding surprisingly calm. Carlos supposed the routine questions were probably helping him relax. "And I would very much like it to be temporary."

            The Sheriff sighed. "Cecil, there's more to this than you know," he said. "How did this come about?"

            "It was my fault," Carlos said. "I realized I couldn't tell what Cecil looked like."

            "I don't blame you, Carlos," Cecil said. "You didn't know. You'd never do something like this on purpose."

            "Either way, it happened," Carlos said. "What can you tell us?" he directed at the potted plant.

            "It's Secret!" the Sheriff snapped immediately. There was a moment of quiet before he spoke again. "But I suppose it's no harm now, if you want to know."

            "Cecil?" Carlos said. The scientist in him was _dying_ to know, but it was Cecil's story, and he knew Cecil had different ideas about what was and wasn't knowable. He remembered the incident with the cassette well enough to know that. "The more information we have, the better we can help you," he added.

            "I suppose." Cecil took a few seconds to respond, and when he did his voice was subdued, radio static crackling as if an expression of his uncertainty.

            Carlos nodded, smiling at the radio, and then turned back to the Sheriff's camera. "Tell us, please."

            "Cecil," the Sheriff began, "You are aware of the prophesies about you."

            "Yes," Cecil said. "I was prophesied to be the Voice of Night Vale." he was sounding marginally more relaxed simply at the mention of it. "And I'm glad. I love my job."

            "You were made for it," the Sheriff said. "And not in the usual way, with sacrificial offerings before you were born. You were _made_ for it."

            "I'm not sure I understand," Cecil said. Carlos wasn't sure he understood either.

            "You know your predecessor at the station, Leonard, had been there for a very long time," the Sheriff explained. "He, like all the other Voices of Night Vale, was born with a certain capacity for the job. Not just anyone can be a Voice."

            "Of course not," Cecil said. "That's why there are the prophesies."

            "But nobody had been born with that capacity for a long time," the Sheriff said. "We don't know why. But Night Vale needed a Voice - someone to understand and guide the town, to pass on knowledge from City Council and Government Agencies. Someone to unify Night Vale."

            Carlos was starting to see where this was going, but without the ability to look at and gauge Cecil's facial expressions, he couldn't tell what his boyfriend thought about it.

            "So we decided to make a Voice." Carlos found himself glancing at the radio as if he could read Cecil through it, but of course he couldn't. "The hooded figures did something with Leonard to get the essence of being a Voice, and filtered out all the other stuff so you wouldn't be a copy of him. The details of what they did are confidential, but it wound up with your mind being created." The Sheriff laughed dryly. "'Course, we still didn't have a body for you, and that seemed kinda important. You wouldn’t have the radio senses until you were older, so you had to have some way to grow up in the town and get to know it and all that. Go to the school and learn rituals, modified Sumerian, recreational knife throwing..."

            He kept talking, but Carlos had stopped listening. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to get the (apparently nostalgic) Sheriff back on topic. "So Cecil didn't have a body," he said.

            The Sheriff stopped mid-sentence, paused a moment, and then continued. "Right. So Cecil needed a body. But we couldn't use anyone's blood or anything to make one, because the Voice extract we had was - what'd they call it? - _unstable_ , and tying it too much to anyone could ruin it. So they made a spell, sort of. Secret ritual. It gave you physical _presence,_ but not _form,_ you see? You could touch things, eat, sleep, whatever, but you weren't actually _there_ all the way. Not enough for the mind to fully grasp. And the spell they used - it got power from you thinking you had form. Belief-powered spells were all the rage, back then."

            The Sheriff stopped, apparently finished with his story. Carlos bit his lip and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling - an unfortunate habit of his when assimilating new information. Cecil was still quiet.

            After a minute of reviewing all the information he'd just been given, Carlos broke the silence. "So why can't someone make another spell, one that works better?"

            "It wouldn't be possible," Cecil said. "The only spells that can make anything like a body run on belief or form, and I have neither."

            His voice was subdued and heavy, and Carlos wished more than ever that Cecil had form so he could hold his hand to reassure him - but if he could do that, they wouldn't have this issue anyway.

            "There has to be _something_ ," he said, regretting that he didn't know much about the mystery-cloaked art of spells in Night Vale.

            Cloaks.

            "Maybe the hooded figures can help us," he said. "They did it the first time, right?"

            "That they did," the Sheriff agreed. "But if you want to talk to them, you're doing it on your own life - I'm not pitching in any blood."

            "Blood?" Carlos asked.

            "It's not that much," the Sheriff told him. "I'd be more worried about the hooded figures themselves, really."

            Suddenly a hissing sound filled the air and Carlos saw several snake-like forms rise out of the previously unremarkable ground. They turned their unmarked faces towards him and opened half-formed mouths, hissing out some sort of gas.

            "Meeting adjourned," the Sheriff informed them. "I'm glad I could help. Oh, and Cecil? Please get back to reporting before Station Management does anything."

            Cecil may or may not have replied - Carlos couldn't hear them as he slumped over, unconscious, onto the floor.


	5. Information Analysis

            Cecil watched as Carlos, unconscious, was taken back to the Station. The Secret Police were kind enough to leave the radio with him, although Cecil suspected that had more to do with the need to keep their base's location secret (by moving it once he was gone) than with any care for Cecil himself.

            Cecil was still trying to figure out how to handle all the information he'd been given from his meeting with the Sheriff. He'd taken the standard class on world-altering revelations in High School, of course - and aced it - but actually experiencing something like that was a whole different story.

            He knew he should be returning to the show before Station Management got ... upset (he allowed himself a noncorporeal shiver at the thought), but he couldn't help but watch Carlos anxiously until he awoke, just to be certain he was okay.

            It was about twenty minutes, according to the clock Old Woman Josie kept on the wall opposite her radio, before Cecil awoke.

            "Hhhu?" he muttered groggily, blinking open his eyes. "Oh! Cecil?"

            "Yes, Carlos?" Cecil asked, a wave of happiness rushing over him at Carlos' _perfect_ voice. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" He knew he was being perhaps a touch overprotective, but he really did want to make sure Carlos was unharmed.

            And checking on Carlos allowed him to not think about certain other things.

            "Yeah, Cecil, I'm fine," Carlos reassured him, sitting up. "Are you?" he cast a worried eye at the radio. "You were pretty quiet in there."

            Apparently avoidance and denial weren't going to work. Cecil mentally sighed. It was worth a shot - there was a mandate about using denial in situations like this anyway.

            "I don't know," he said, thinking about what he'd just learned. "Apparently I never really had a body? I'm not actually an expert in corporeality studies, because I skipped that elective on the grounds that it didn't apply to me. Not that it didn't seem _interesting_ , but advanced bloodstone rituals filled the same requirement, and I don't regret taking that one..." he trailed off, realizing abruptly that he was babbling.

            "It's just ... a lot," he admitted, feeling himself switch over into his _other_ mode of coping with these issues. "To think that you know yourself one day, that you know who you are and what your place is in the world, and to be happy with it, and then to have it all sent spiralling into the Void, lost in the dark and distant place between the stars with nothing to guide you but the screams of people pouring themselves into the night. I... I don't _want_ to stay like this," he said finally. “Maybe if I’d grown up that way, or if there was some sort of precedent, but… Carlos, this has never _happened_ before. There are other people in Night Vale who are noncorporeal, sure, but nobody’s ever converted from corporeal to noncorporeal. I … I guess I just wish I wasn’t the first.”

            "It’s okay," Carlos reassured him. "We'll make it through this, Cecil. It’ll work out. I’m not giving up until you’re okay with the situation, whatever it turns out to be."

            Of course he wasn't. Carlos was too perfect to give up on a problem like this. But even despite his faith in his boyfriend's abilities, Cecil had doubts.

            "What if we can't fix it?" he asked in a small voice. "What do we do then?"

            He watched Carlos carefully, but his face showed nothing but thoughtfulness and concern.

            "Then I guess you’ll need to learn telekinesis, because I’m not sure I’m brave enough to feed Khoskekh for you.”

            "You mean you're not- you won't-" Cecil stammered, hope filling him. "You'll stay with me, even like ... this? I mean, I know where you’re from, there aren’t any … everyone’s all …."

            "Of course, Cecil!" Carlos said, almost sounding surprised. "You're still _you_. And besides," he added, trying to grin and not quite managing it, "It's probably a violation of some boyfriend contract. Is there a contract?" He furrowed his brow charmingly, clearly trying to remember.

            "No, but it's up for debate," Cecil told him, glad to be back on firmer ground. "The town's about evenly split on the issue."

            "Where do you fall?" Carlos asked, curious.

            "I," Cecil began, fighting against the pain suddenly tangible despite his lack of pain receptors. "I..." He gave up. "It's a controversial topic- there isn't a firm consensus. Supporters cite potential decreases in relationship-based issues brought before City Council. The opposition claims that having a form would be an unnecessary inconvenience, given the blood loss required to properly fill out all the signatures."

            As he shifted tactics, the pain receded, and he finished smoothly.

            "Yeah, but what's _your_ opinion?" Carlos repeated.

            "I'm divided on the issue," Cecil said, knowing the right answer this time. "They both have points." Unable to resist, he added, "However, on a completely unrelated note, blood loss can have serious consequences, such as paving the way for malevolent possession."

            Carlos raised one eyebrow at the radio, but let the topic drop.

            Not, of course, that Cecil would have heard anything he said anyway, because suddenly all of his viewpoints were filled with static - all except one.

            He had a clear view of Station Management's door from the radio that was mandated there, and he could hear the loud thumping and screaming coming from within. A piece of paper shot out from under the door, managing to land at just the right angle for Cecil to read it from the radio. That was fortunate, as Cecil was between interns at the moment and didn't know how Station Management would react to Carlos' presence near their lair.

            _You have five minutes to return to the show, or there will be consequences._

The warning was punctuated with a wave of pain that was both similar to and different from the one he'd experienced just a few minutes earlier. The point was clear - Station Management might not be able to fire him without another Voice ready, but they could still hurt him.

            Cecil sighed, frustrated, and the sound came out as a rush of static. His vision returned abruptly, and he immediately snapped his focus back to the radio in the break room (there were radios scattered all throughout the Station), where Carlos was watching the radio carefully.

            "Cecil?" he asked, leaning close to the radio. "Are you okay?"

            "Yes," Cecil reassured him. "Station management just wanted to remind me of my duty as Voice of Night Vale. I am afraid I must return to the broadcast."

            "Are you sure you're up to it?" Carlos asked him naively. "I mean, you've been through a lot. Surely Station Management must understand?" Even as he said the words his voice became less confident, as though he was realizing the error in his statement.

            "I need to keep broadcasting," Cecil told him, firmly. "I can do this, sweet Carlos, though it means a lot to me that you care about my well-being."

            "Okay, then," Carlos said, shifting in his seat. "Do you want me to stay here, or...?"

            "I know you're a Scientist, Carlos," Cecil said, an incorporeal smile colouring his voice. "You're probably itching for your lab. Just... keep a radio nearby?"

            Carlos grinned at him - the same brilliant, _wonderful_ grin that Cecil saw when he first fell in love. "Of course." Carlos stood up as if to go, but then leaned over and kissed the radio, quickly and awkwardly, before leaving.

            For the briefest of moments, Cecil was almost glad that he was incorporeal; if he wasn't, he knew he'd be blushing, set appearance or not.


	6. Hooded Figures

            Carlos hurried back to his lab as quickly as he could, and turned it on to Cecil's station as soon as he got in.

            "-stuck this way for an undetermined length of time," Cecil said, wrapping up what appeared to be an explanation of the day's events. "I won't lie, listeners; I am afraid of what the future may bring, and of what it may not bring. This is new to me, and the only ways I have to interact with the world are the radios scattered throughout this town. But although I cannot visit you in-person for the foreseeable future, rest assured that I will always be here on the radio, for as long as Night Vale needs me."

            Carlos smiled a little to himself, relieved to hear Cecil's voice in the usual cadences of his broadcasts. He thought they had a generally soothing effect on everyone, not unlike a cat's purring, and it was probably good for Cecil to be recording again.

            Two out of his three team members were gone for the day - Rochelle and Tyler were collecting more samples from the Sand Wastes, and would likely be gone until evening. Tamara, however, was still in the lab, analyzing a sample of glowing yellow goo that had replaced the insides of all their lightbulbs (the light levels in the lab hadn't changed, so they weren't too concerned).

            "You weren't supposed to be gone today," she said, after watching him dash to the radio and listen to Cecil's broadcast. "Something happen we didn't catch?"

            "You know you're supposed to keep the radio on," Carlos reprimanded her. "You'd know what happened if you had."

            "Yeah," she said, shaking her head, "But I think this goop emits a low wailing sound with the right stimulus, and I couldn't hear it properly over the radio."

            "Valid excuse, I suppose," Carlos said, before launching into the day's events.

            When he finished, Tamara let forth a long-suffering sigh - the same kind she gave whenever Night Vale was being, well, Night Vale. Carlos was familiar with the sigh, and had in fact been on the other end of that sigh himself on several occasions.

            "What now?" she asked, interrupting Carlos' thoughts. "Any ideas?"

            "I was thinking we might be able to find someone who can do another spell," Carlos said, marvelling that the sentence had passed his lips and made sense to both scientists.

            "Yeah," she said, "But didn't you say Cecil didn't think it was viable?"

            "Yeah, but it’s worth a shot," Carlos said. "Still, I don't know who else to ask other than the hooded figures."

            "We're not supposed to talk to the hooded figures," she frowned.

            "Yes," Carlos agreed, "which is why you're going to stay here."

            This time he got both the sigh and an eye-roll. "Fine, but you should know I oppose this decision."

            "Noted," Carlos said dryly. "And ignored. I'm off."

            He grabbed the radio before he left, because he didn't want to leave Cecil isolated. When he was out of the lab - and Tamara's earshot - he murmured to the radio, "I'm sorry Cecil, but they might be able to help. I'll be fine."

            The radio gave a burst of static and the ad for cough medicine ("Howl at the moon; scream at the abyss; whisper longingly to the ghosts of what used to be.") was interrupted for a brief moment, during which Carlos heard Cecil say, "Be careful."

            "I will," Carlos promised, but this time the radio gave no reply.

\---

            As with the Secret Police, finding the hooded figures was quite simple. In Night Vale, the challenge was _surviving_ and _avoiding_ the mysteries, not finding them.

            Carlos started by walking in the direction of the little cafe that sold caffeinated beverages without arsenic. The fact that the cafe was in the same general direction as the Dog Park was not at all a coincidence, but Carlos was prepared to say it was if he was questioned.

            He wasn't questioned. He was a few blocks from the Dog Park when he saw a hooded figure walking slowly down the road, if you could call it walking. The figure appeared to be drifting just over the ground, never actually touching it.

            After a few minutes of covertly watching the figure and puzzling over the best way to approach it, Carlos gave up. _Better to just do it_ , he decided, and walked straight up to the figure.

            "Hello," he said, surprised his voice was steady. "Um, I need to ask you about Cecil?"

            The figure turned to him, and although Carlos was certain they hadn't spoken, he got the sense of words nonetheless: Words, deep and dark and dusty rooms, and wide pools of thick black blood.

            _Very well,_ he heard. _State your query._

            "There was a spell you did for Cecil, when he was younger." Carlos said. "To give him form. Is there a way to do the same thing now that he knows about the spell?"

            The figure studied him carefully - at least, they looked like they were studying him. Carlos wasn't sure they were even looking at him, for all he could see.

            _The spell will not work again,_ the figure said. _The only way to give Cecil form now is to give him something to use._

            "Something to use?" Carlos asked. "Like what?"

            _Flesh,_ the figure told him solemnly. _Blood. Bones. Hair. Tissue. The essence of physical forms is needed to make a form for him now._

            "Uh, okay." Carlos said. "Thanks."

            He wanted to keep talking, to ask more questions and get more answers, but between one blink and the next the figure had gone. Apparently that was all the information he was going to get.

            "Okay then," he said to himself. "Flesh."

\---

            Cecil finished his show in the evening as he usually did, but once he was finished he wasn't sure what to do. It was a bit difficult to follow his usual routine - pet Khoshekh, go home, and sit on the couch with Carlos while they watched the Scientist show he liked called "Star Trek".

            It was a bit difficult to literally do those things at the moment, but he figured he could get pretty close.

            Carlos, true to his word, had kept the radio with him the entire day - including during the conversation with the hooded figure, which Cecil had worried about until it was over. At the moment, Carlos was sitting at a table in his lab, scribbling something Cecil couldn't read on a piece of paper.

            There was nobody else in the lab - the colleague that had been there had left at least an hour ago, although not before telling Carlos to "Remember the detrimental effects of burnout, sleep-deprivation, and malnutrition."

            "Carlos?" he asked, projecting his voice through Carlos' radio alone.

            Carlos lifted his head from his work, a tired smile playing on his features. "Cecil?" he asked. "How are you? The show sounded good, as always."

            "Well," Cecil said, thinking about it. "I'm still here, and I can still talk to you, and I can still do the show, so I have things to be grateful for. However, that is not to say that I wouldn't welcome the opportunity to have physical form again."

            Carlos nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "Physical forms are convenient for lots of things." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the other still holding the tiny paintbrush (not technically a _writing_ utensil). "I guess you heard the conversation with the hooded figures?" he asked.

            "I did," Cecil said. He wasn't surprised by any of the information, honestly. He'd known repeating the spell wouldn't work - that was something anyone who'd taken 7th grade spell mechanics would know. Outsider education baffled him sometimes, but he'd learned with Carlos that letting him figure it out himself was usually more effective.

            "What do you think?" Carlos asked him. "Could we somehow make flesh work for the spell?"

            "I don't think so," Cecil replied at length. "People who are born to be Voices usually have their relatives excised from them on reaching puberty so they can be wholly loyal to Night Vale."

            "Relatives excised?" Carlos asked, but Cecil could tell from his tone that it was rhetorical. Sure enough, it was only a few seconds before Carlos continued, speaking mostly to himself. "Oh. _oh_. There must be some self-altering aspect to the DNA that gets triggered and somehow ..." he kept talking, but Cecil had stopped understanding. When he finished he turned back to the radio. "So you can't be tied to anyone in Night Vale? What about relationships? You're obviously allowed to have those."

            "Yes, a fact for which I am eternally grateful," Cecil said. "Voices can have _friends_ , of course. It's just parental and sibling ties which are removed – even if you’re adopted. And literal parent or not, any flesh used in the spell would be close enough to remove me. If that happened..." he trailed off. It would not be good - not least of all because he would cease to exist altogether. A Voice could not simply _stop_ being a Voice. And if Night Vale had no Voice...

            "There has to be something," Carlos said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I just can't see it." He paced around the room for a few moments before settling down again at his desk.

            "You're tired," Cecil told him, realizing suddenly that it was getting rather late. It was harder to keep track of time without a body, apparently. "You need to sleep."

            Carlos bit his lip in hesitation. "I don't just want to leave this unsolved though, Cecil. I want to help you."

            "I know," Cecil said, "And I am extremely grateful for that fact, sweet Carlos, but you need to sleep. I'll still be here tomorrow."

            "I know," Carlos said with a sigh. "Cognitive function will probably be better in the morning anyway."

            Carlos headed resignedly into the back room that he kept ready in case he ever needed to crash at the lab. He and Cecil were sharing an apartment now for the most part, but there were the occasional times when an experiment kept him up late enough that it was worthwhile to stay here instead, since driving in Night Vale required substantial alertness. Cecil found it aggravating, but also charmingly demonstrative of his boyfriend's passion for Science.

            Tonight, Cecil suspected Carlos had worn himself out working on a solution to his current predicament. He wasn't sure he really believed it would be solved, but he appreciated the sentiment. Besides, Carlos was smart, and Cecil would be lying to himself if he didn't admit to feeling a little spark of hope.

            Cecil watched as Carlos entered his little spare room, taking the radio with him. He shrugged off his lab coat and hung it up, then wormed way under the sheets, radio tucked to his chest. Cecil was deeply touched by the gesture, but didn't say anything about it; Carlos had fallen asleep within moments of hitting the pillow.

            Cecil was pretty sure he didn't need to sleep now, since he wasn't even feeling tired after all the day's excitement. Instead, he ran a quick check through all the radios in the town - as he always did before turning in for the night - then settled his attention into the radio pressed close to Carlos' heart, and listened to the sound of his boyfriend's breath as the night passed.


	7. An Idea Happens

            Carlos woke up the next morning slightly confused, as was the norm for mornings in the back room. There was a moment of blankness during which his mind tried to work out why he was here instead of with Cecil, sleeping next to the radio broadcaster on their shared bed.

            Next to Cecil. Cecil. _Oh._

            "Morning," he greeted the radio (which still hadn't completely stopped feeling silly, but was at least a way to communicate).

            "Morning," Cecil replied. "Did you sleep well?"

            "I suppose. I was really tired last night," Carlos admitted. "Did you sleep?"

            "Not really," Cecil said. "But I did drift for quite a while, and just watched you and the town. Mostly you."

            Carlos reflected that there was a point in his life where that would have sounded creepy, but he couldn't really bring himself to blame Cecil for it now - particularly since it didn't seem like he had much else to do.

            "Well, I'll go back to exploring options for you today," he said. "There may be something we overlooked.

            "Maybe," Cecil said, typically emotive voice betraying both his disbelief and his hope.

\---

            Cecil checked up on the community while Carlos showered, dressed, and ate. Khoshekh was sleeping, Josie was debating television programs with the (non-existent) angels, and Tamika Flynn was doing early-morning training exercises.

            A normal morning in Night Vale.

            He pulled his attention back to Carlos when the scientist finished his breakfast of wheat-free cereal and spoke.

            "So I know we need some sort of physical base for the spell - and I'm going to assume it has to be a spell, because the outside world hasn't got science that can even get close to touching this - but as the Voice of Night Vale you can't have DNA-based ties to anyone in the city. I don't have enough of a background in spellworking for this. Rochelle was working on developing an understanding of magic-based effects though, so I should get her to come in today..."

            Cecil quickly realized that Carlos was talking to himself more than to Cecil, but he kept listening anyway, in case there was something he could add. He didn't need to start his shows until early afternoon anyway, and time had a way of distorting things so that the show kept the proper pacing, so he wasn't worried.

            Carlos kept up a steady stream-of-consciousness dialogue while he cleaned his dishes and headed into the laboratory. It wasn't an unusual thing for him to do - he had a tendency to ramble when talking about Science - but Cecil got a feeling that there was more to it this time. He of all people knew how talking could impact emotions. It was like Khoshekh's purring, both a calming effect to the cat and the person listening to it from another room.

            Cecil appreciated hearing Carlos' voice without having to respond. Sometimes it was nice not being the one who had to speak; not having to sound put-together (for an admittedly loose definition of the term) and ready for anything. He loved his job, was very literally _made_ for his job, apparently, but for now he was content to listen to Carlos chatter away as he worked on finding a solution.

\---

            It was midday now and Carlos was still stuck. He'd consulted the other scientists, but when it came down to it they weren't much more experienced with this aspect of Night Vale than he was - even Rochelle, who was studying the magic, couldn't offer much more than he'd learned from Cecil and the hooded figures.

            He wasn't ready to give up, but he wasn't making a whole lot of progress either.

            "He's probably made of sound waves or electricity or something now, right?" Tyler asked. "Could we feed that to some kind of remote-operated interaction system?"

            The others sighed, in unison. "Tyler, we're not making him a robot," Carlos said. "I don't care how cool you think it is - Cecil vetoed it, so it's not happening. End of story."

            " _Fine_ ," Tyler huffed. "It's not like we have any other ideas."

            "We'll think of something," Rochelle said. "I still think our most promising area is in flesh-based magic, if we can get around the prohibition on tying Cecil to anyone in Night Vale."

            "And why do we even have that prohibition, exactly?" asked Tamara. "It still seems like a pretty arbitrary restriction."

            "I don't know," Tyler said. "I can sort of see it. Maybe they don't want him biologically biased towards anyone in the town."

            "Yeah, I get _that_ ," Tamara replied testily. "I just don't see why they require him to be _biologically_ unbiased instead of _psychologically_ unbiased. He's allowed to date Mr.  "The Scientist" over there, so why can't he be related to someone?

            They glanced over at the radio, half-expecting Cecil to chime in with an answer as he'd done several times previously, but there was no response. There were some things in Night Vale that even Cecil wasn't allowed to know.

            There was at least a minute of silence as everyone tried to figure out where to go next. Finally, Rochelle broke the tension. "Carlos," she said gently, "You have to accept that we may not be able to find a solution. We've tried _everything_ , and-"

            "That's it!" Carlos exclaimed, and the others jumped slightly, expecting an angry response rather than an excited one. " _Everything"_ He pushed himself away from the table he'd been leaning against and started gesturing wildly with his hands. "We know Cecil can't be _biased_ biologically toward anyone in Night Vale, but it can't be a bias if he's biologically related to _everyone_ in Night Vale, can it? We can use a flesh spell after all - assuming we can formulate one, which is your area, Rochelle - but we have to use something from _everyone_!"

            He took a deep breath and visibly calmed down, focusing on his coworkers. "What do you guys think? Cecil?"

            Silence.

            "Cecil?" he asked again, worried. Cecil had taken to giving almost exclusive attention to the lab, and his sudden lack of response was worrying.

            He was just about to ask again when Cecil responded.

            "Carlos?" he asked. "Were you calling to me? Sorry, Station Management found me a new intern and I've learned it's best to give Station Management one's whole attention."

            "No, no, it's fine." Carlos breathed a sigh of relief. "We just had an idea, that's all."

            "An idea?" Cecil repeated, a hint of suppressed excitement in his voice. "What kind of idea?"

            Carlo explained the idea and the thought process behind it, and then waited with baited breath for Cecil's pronouncement.

            "It's _perfect!_ " came the reply in something alarmingly close to a squeal. Cecil cleared his throat (or whatever that was called, now that he didn't have one) and when he spoke again his voice was much more subdued.        

"I mean, thank you, Carlos. I think that could work! Not that I can say for sure, of course. Nothing like this has been done before."

            Carlos grinned, and caught a few of his labmates smiling too. "I guess we'll have to start working on it then," he said. "Could you put out an announcement on the show? Get everyone to come to the lab for sample donation?" Usually he would be worried about getting everyone to agree to sample donation, but this was Night Vale, and that sort of thing was required on all major documents, so he didn't think it would be an issue.

            "Of course, Carlos!" Cecil gushed. "Thank you _so much_ for being perfect and brilliant and-"

            "No problem," Carlos cut him off, feeling only mildly guilty for doing so. "And could you see if anyone can help us with designing the spell?" He shot a look at Rochelle, who raised her eyebrows at him and nodded.

            "Yes," Cecil said. "Absolutely. Thank you, Carlos. I love you. Oh!" The radio burst into static for a few moments until Cecil returned. "Station Management wants me to start now. I have to go, but I'll definitely relay your message."

            "Thanks, Cecil," Carlos said. "I love you too." He ignored the smirk Tyler sent his way and turned to the rest of the group.

            "Okay guys, we have a lot of work to do. Let's get started."


	8. The Safe Re-Corporeation of Cecil Palmer

            Cecil was ecstatic. He was bursting with excitement and energy and _relief_ , and he had to consciously restrain himself so the radios all over town didn't burst something. True, he’d only been noncorporeal for a short while, and he’d probably adjust if he had to stay that way, he’d rather not have to. It was wonderful to know that he’d be back to his usual self soon.

            (The spell would work. It had to work. He wasn't thinking of the alternative, really, he wasn't.)

            After a quick conference with his new intern - Lari - he focused his attention on the radios all over Night Vale, and began to speak.

\---

            "Listeners, I have wonderful news. Carlos - my boyfriend - has found a solution to my dilemma! However, he does require tissue samples from _all_ Night Vale residents, and requests that everyone make their way to his lab at the nearest possible opportunity. That includes you, _Steve Carlsburg_. That also includes hooded figures, nonexistent angels, and anyone else who lives in Night Vale. You know who you are." He paused a moment, to give everyone time to really absorb the message, before continuing. "We now to go a pre-recorded ad."

            Intern Lani put the ad on, and Cecil focused his attention to the radio

            "John Peters? The Farmer?" Cecil asked, glad that the old farmer was in his home today rather than out on the fields. It made him easier to access.

            "Yeah, Cecil?" he replied, turning an intense gaze on the radio. "This about that Scientist fella and your problem this past while?"

            "Yes," Cecil said. "I need to ask you for a favour." He explained the situation in more detail than he'd given on the radio, and why Carlos and his team would need the old farmer's help. Magical work was required for most invisible-crop rearing, so John Peters - the farmer - was one of the foremost magic-users in the town. Other than the hooded figures, of course, but Cecil didn't think they would be as willing to help.

            John Peters was a farmer, however, not a hooded figure, and he was happy to help.

            "Sure thing, Cecil," he said. "I'll head down there right quick."

            "Thank you," Cecil said gratefully.

            "No trouble, really," the farmer assured him. "I know you must be bustin' to get your body back by now. Always were a fidgety bugger."

            "I am looking forward to being corporeal again," Cecil admitted. "Broadcasting through the radio is one thing, but living through it?" he sighed. "I have to live in Night Vale, too." He also remembered the mess with StrexCorp, and didn't want to have a repeat of that happen when he was effectively defenseless. Unlike the other noncorporeal residents of the town, he didn’t have a separate “essence” that he could move himself. He was tied to the radio station, and if it were to be invaded…

            "Yeah," his friend agreed. "Well, I'd best be off to see to your boyfriend, then," he said with a smile. "Hope to see you soon, Cecil."

            "Thanks," he said again. At the station, intern Lani muttered quietly into a seemingly empty room, fingernails turning a vibrant shade of lime green.

            "Oh, the ad's over soon," Cecil said. "I have to get back."

            John Peters, ever the farmer, was already headed off to meet Carlos and get their work done. He shouted something back to Cecil, but the radio was out of range to hear him.

            "And now for a look at the community calendar," Cecil said. "Thursday is an omen; it is a sign of dark times in a world far removed from ours, and in a future we will never see come to pass. It probably has no bearing on us, but if you meet someone from this other realm, you may want to warn them..."

\---

            Carlos was slightly surprised when Cecil's "magic expert" turned out to be John Peters, the farmer, but he'd been living in Night Vale for long enough to just accept it. After all, it made considerably more sense than Teddy Williams' medical skills.

            As soon as their help arrived, Carlos sent him into one of the back rooms to work with Rochelle on creating a spell. He fully intended to follow them in a few minutes, but before he did so he turned to the rest of the team.

            "You guys know what to do with people who come to donate, right?" he asked.

            "Just take a sample of blood or skin or hair or whatever," Tyler said diffidently. "We've got it."

            Tamara snorted. "Speak for yourself. How do we take samples from the noncorporeal residents?"

            Carlos paused. That was a good question, and one he hadn't yet considered.

            "Night Vale requires tissue samples for nearly all public documents, right?" he asked. "Does anyone know what they require from noncorporeal beings?"

            "Last I recall, they were using biometergy samples instead," came the voice of John Peters the Farmer from the direction of the back room. "I recon that'll do for our purposes well enough, too."

            "Uh," Carlos said, reminded yet again of all they still didn't know about Night Vale. "How do we take a sample of that, exactly?"

            The farmer looked surprised. "How do you outsiders get anything done?" he asked. He clearly wasn't expecting an answer, because he sighed and continued before Carlos could respond. "It's a really simple spell. I can show you."

            The spell turned out to involve a two-and-a-half minute chant and a small blood sacrifice, but it was manageable. Tyler looked unhappy at the prospect of bleeding for the cause, but Carlos knew he'd do it - he'd gotten much better with blood after spending more than a year in this town.

            When the rest of the team had been supplied with a copy of the chant, a needle, and bottles for tissue samples, Carlos retreated into the back to work with the others on the spell. He knew it wasn't his area of expertise, but it seemed to be the best thing to do to help Cecil. He knew he'd be popping in and out to check on both groups anyway - might as well start here.

            Over the next hours (Carlos didn't know how many exactly, because this was Night Vale and time didn't work properly) they got a spell cobbled together and found tissue samples from everyone in Night Vale. Carlos was honestly surprised, because if this was anywhere else they would never have gotten samples from an entire city in so short a time. But this was not another city, and Cecil was well-loved by the community. The spell to collect 'biometergy' went without a hitch, and even the hooded figures showed up to give bottles of some dark smoke-like substance which Carlos reminded everybody several times to _please not touch_.

            "Well," Carlos said, surveying the tables with rows upon rows of bottled samples, "I guess we're ready to set up. Cecil?"

            Cecil's broadcast had ended probably half an hour ago, and the radio host had been contributing to the spellwork and overseeing the sample collection ever since. They'd had to get a sample from him too, and the swirling purple-black-silver energy was easily noticeable among the other samples.

            "That sounds excellent," Cecil said, anticipation colouring his voice. "Did you get the sample from Khoshekh?"

            "We did," Carlos said. "Intern ... Lana? Lani?"

            "Lari," Cecil supplied.

            "Right. Lari brought it over."

            Lari was seriously injured but expected to survive. He was one of the lucky ones.

            "Well, then," Rochelle said. "Why are we still sitting around here? We have to get all these samples to Cecil's place, right?"

\---

            Cecil's apartment was fairly normal ... for an apartment in Night Vale. Like all Night Valian homes, it had a room for the bloodstone circle and a mysterious purple sphere that made shrieking noises every now and then. Of course, there were also Cecil-specific touches, such as the pictures of Carlos and Cecil, and the absolute lack of mirrors.

            One by one the Scientists and John Peters, the farmer, shuffled into the room with the bloodstone circle and set up for the spell. The others who had donated didn't need to be physically present, which was good because even though space warped a bit in Night Vale, Cecil's apartment wasn't that big.

            "How are you doing?" Carlos asked his boyfriend while the others were setting up. He had made an effort to include Cecil in discussions, both to keep Cecil distracted from the situation and to reassure him that no matter what, Carlos wasn't going anywhere.

            "Anticipatory," Cecil decided. "Like I do before the bimonthly Void Calling ceremony."

            "It'll be fine," Carlos reassured him. He absolutely did not say that the ritual was approximately 40% guesswork. He didn't know if the placebo effect had merit in spellwork, but he was certainly going to take every potential advantage for all it was worth.

            "We're ready over here, Mr. Scientist," John Peters - the farmer - said. "You and Cecil good to go?"

            "Cecil?" Carlos asked. "You ready?"

            "Yeah," Cecil replied. There was a pause, and then he spoke again, sounding a little more put-together. Carlos could imagine him straightening and putting on his reporting-face, even though he clearly wasn't doing any such thing. "Yes, I'm ready."

            In the end, the ritual was fairly simple. Everybody stood on the edges of the circle, joining John Peters, the farmer, in a chant. Tamara had thoughtfully printed out copies of the chant and provided them to everyone. Carlos had thought about doing that himself, actually, but the thought had slipped his mind and he was grateful that Tamara had remembered to do it.

            As they chanted, John Peters - their farmer and spellworker - added the collected essences to a pile in the middle of the circle. Pre-planted in the pile were several objects: the clothes Cecil had been wearing when he vanished; a picture of Cecil which nobody could describe, but everyone could identify; and a radio, which was serving as a conduit for Cecil's own energy.

            Carlos wasn't sure what he was expecting. He was a Scientist, after all, and he'd never been involved in anything like this before. Whatever he was expecting, though, this wasn't it.

            There was no dramatic music, no mood lighting and mysterious wind and distant wailing. In fact, there was absolutely nothing to indicate that the spell was working at all.

            It made Carlos nervous.

            Finally, when the spell was winding down and they were working their way through the last length of the chant, he started to notice something. A subtle glow was working its way through the objects, its edges coming together and connecting into a shapeless but singular form. He breathed a sigh of relief that the spell was in fact working, and redoubled his focus.

            Now that the spell's effects were becoming visible, the progress seemed to be faster. The objects themselves were become less opaque now, and within a few minutes they were nearly indistinguishable from the energy around them. The last samples had been added, and everything except for the articles of clothing was part of the energy mass.

            Carlos watched the energy eagerly, curious to see if he could pinpoint anything specific about Cecil's form when it coalesced. He was disappointed in that regard, but not surprised. It was sudden but gradual - one moment the energy was just that, and the next, it was a physical form, and it was Cecil. But at the same time, it felt as though it had always been Cecil, and Carlos filed it away as just another double-memory event.

            Cecil was unconscious as Carlos and the others rushed through the last words of the chant, but as soon as silence fell his eyes blinked open.

            "Carlos?" he asked, pushing himself up to a sitting position and looking around.

            "Cecil!" Carlos said, breaking the circle and pulling Cecil into a hug. It was nice to be able to do that again, he reflected. Nice to feel Cecil hugging back.

            They finally broke apart when a throat-clearing noise came from a potted plant that had certainly not been there when they started the ritual.

            "Sorry to interrupt, but someone's going to need to file a new-ritual report on this," said the potted plant. "It needs to be finished by the next full moon and signed in both blood and essence."

            "Of course, officer," Cecil said smoothly, seemingly unfazed by the past day's events. He turned then to the assembled scientists and farmer, who were standing awkwardly in a now-malformed circle, clearly unsure what to do.

            "Thank you, everyone," Cecil said seriously, nodding to them. "Now, does anyone want tea? I have a nice hemlock-nightshade mix Old Woman Josie gave me. It does wonders for the immune system."

            The scientists gave each other Looks, and Carlos could practically hear them trying to figure out if it would be rude to decline the poisonous beverage. He smiled, and decided to take pity on them.

            "I'm afraid my team has to get back to the lab and file some of our own paperwork on this," he said. Rochelle shot him a grateful smile, and he responded in kind. He was pretty sure none of them had ever been glad to have paperwork to do before moving to Night Vale.

            "I've got to go tend my crops," John Peters - ever the farmer - said. "That invisible corn's a right menace if you don't chant at it regularly."

            "Carlos?" Cecil asked, turning to his boyfriend. "Will you stay?"

            "Of course," Carlos said. "But do you have any of that vanilla lemon tea from last time?" One of these days he was going to give Cecil a lesson on what things were and weren't poisonous to humans.

            But not today. Today, he just wanted to be with him - withhim, in the same room, instead of separated by a radio.


	9. After The Fact

            "Thank you," Cecil said again, sipping at his tea. The nightshade-hemlock blend truly was wonderful - he couldn't figure out why Carlos seemed uninterested in trying it.

            "You're welcome," Carlos replied. "Really, Cecil, it was no trouble. It was what you wanted, and even if I hadn't been willing to do it for you - which I was - I'm a Scientist. I'd have probably studied the event even if you hadn't wanted to change back."

            Cecil nodded. He knew all that. "That's not what I meant," he told his boyfriend. "I mean, I am grateful for that too, of course," he added, "But what I meant was, thank you for sticking with me and supporting me through all of this. It means a lot to me."

            Carlos smiled, and as always happened when he smiled, Cecil fell in love with him all over again.

            "What would you have done if the spell hadn't worked?" he asked. "If you don't mind me asking, of course," he added after a moment, apparently second-guessing the question.

            "You can ask me anything, Carlos, you know that," Cecil told him. "I can't always answer, but you can always ask."

            He thought about the question, turning it over in his head and searching for a response. What _would_ have happened? He tipped his head back and closed his eyes as he mulled it over.

            "I would have kept broadcasting, obviously," he said at last. "Stayed with you, survived Station Management's wrath every few months. I would have had to train the interns to tweak the equipment now and then, of course, and someone else would have had to feed Khoshekh, but..." he trailed off for a moment. "I'm glad the spell worked, because I like having a body, but if it hadn't, I think I'd have been okay," he decided. “Although there would have been certain inconveniences, I’m sure I would have adapted.”

            Carlos nodded, taking a sip of his tea. "We don't have any noncorporeal people in the outside world," he said. "And nobody even remotely like you - nobody created artificially for a specific purpose; nobody given form through a spell; nobody with your charm and voice and-" he broke off to gesture at Cecil, and though no words were exchanged, Cecil understood. "I'm glad you're here," he said at last. "Corporeally or not. I'm glad _I'm_ here."

            "I'm glad too," Cecil said, wanting to say more but for once lost for words.

            They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying the presence of the other. After a time, Cecil glanced at the clock and stood up.

            "I need to sleep now," he said. "Mandated sleep time is coming up." He glanced at Carlos. "Do you want to try to make it back to your lab, or will you stay here for the night?"

            "I'll stay here tonight," Carlos said. Cecil was glad. Carlos stayed at his lab about half the time, even when an experiment hadn’t kept him up late, because it saved him the morning traffic rush of people trying to get through the herds of dreams leftover from the previous night. But when he didn't stay at the lab, he stayed with Cecil.

            They went through their evening rituals in comfortable silence, changing, brushing their teeth, making offerings to the bloodstone circle (Cecil made offerings for both of them). In a short while they were lying together in bed, listening to the sound of the Faceless Old Woman howling to the wind.

            Cecil reached over, turning off the bedside lamp.

            "Good night, Carlos”, he said.

            "Good night."


	10. Somewhere Far Beyond All Those Distant Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for DS9 References! Congrats if you got it.
> 
> This is an alternate dimension breaking off from the first story.

            Carlos woke up, as he usually did, to the piercing shrills of the furred ceiling in the home he shared with Cecil. "Okay, I'm up!" he called to it, and it settled down a few moments later. "Thanks," he said, because he'd learned the hard way that showing a lack of gratitude to the ceiling fur was a bad idea.

            "Hey Cecil, I'm up," he said as he finished getting dressed. He grabbed the miniature radio from his dresser and pinned it to his shirt. "How are you this morning?"

            "Good morning, Carlos!" Cecil greeted him, cheerful as he always was in the mornings. "It's a lovely morning today. How are you? Did you sleep well?"

            "I did," Carlos said, "until the scheduled nightmare hit. My sleep was a bit less sound after that."

            They kept chatting as Carlos finished getting ready and headed to the lab to begin the day's work. His coworkers had already arrived by the time he got there, and greeted him and Cecil as they came in.

            "Hey guys!" Tyler said. "Carlos, the sample we pulled from Radon Canyon last week is growing spines and humming a tune which is both familiar and strange all at once."

            "And whatever the tune is, it's pissing off the fungal growth from the Whispering Forest we've been studying." Rochelle added.

            "Okay," Carlos said. "I'll take a look at it. Cecil, I know you've got the show to run, but could you stay here for a bit and listen to this humming, see if you can tell us anything?"

            "For you Carlos, anything," Cecil said. "Lead on."

\---

            "I must say, Listeners," Cecil said as the weather finished playing, "it's been a surprisingly catastrophe-free day today. No horrific deaths, no mysterious and inexplicable mirages, and no community-wide feelings of doom and terror. But that's okay -I'm sure we'll get something soon."

            "It does seem worth mentioning, though," he added, "That it was one year ago today that I accidentally broke the spell keeping me in corporeal form. Carlos tried to redo it, of course - Carlos is considerate like that - but as you know, it didn't work."

            "But in retrospect, I am okay with the way things worked out," he decided. "I have my job, I have Carlos, and Khoshekh, and all of you, dear Listeners. And isn't that what's important? And of course, I have Intern Yuika to take care of things around the station here when the telekinetic powers I've been developing can't do the job. All things considered, I’d say my life is pretty good – better, when Station Management isn’t cranky.”

            "But what I mean to say, Listeners, is that the people in your lives are important. They are more important than the glowing lichen growing on the back of your phone, or the dark energy seeping through your windows when you aren't looking. They might not be more important than those strange and mysterious dreams you've been getting, though. I'd keep an eye on those."

            "Today was uneventful for our little town, and tomorrow may not be, but what matters is that we are here, Night Vale. We are here and we have survived everything that has come our way, and that is enough. That is always enough."

            "Coming up next is precisely 682 seconds of gnashing fangs and growling."

            "Good night, Night Vale,"

            "Good night."


End file.
